


approach & recede

by lornemalvoofficial (VerboseSniper)



Series: rivers of denial [lornester vignettes] [3]
Category: Fargo (TV)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Canon-Typical Violence, Implied Parental Abuse, M/M, Rough Sex, daddy kink except not really, extremely toxic and unhealthy sex?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-06
Updated: 2018-11-06
Packaged: 2019-08-19 15:22:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16537157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VerboseSniper/pseuds/lornemalvoofficial
Summary: some misfired dirty talk, and then some power shifts after.





	approach & recede

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! Proceeds to leave for two and a half years and then upload to a nearly dead ship fandom. 
> 
> Big obligatory cw for a heavily toxic and abusive relationship. They're both shitty and terrible and their negotiation of sex and kink is questionable to say the least.
> 
> I wrote this in like... 2016? I just edited it enough that I'd be, like, happy to post it up. I honestly have no idea where I was going with it. There were originally going to be multiple parts? But I kind of gave up on that haha.

_What you want to believe is you could've turned out better than this, happier than this. If only you'd had a mom and dad who cared, who loved you for you. Well, I'm here to tell you there is no escape. You were born with something missing and so was I._

_We are the shadow sons._

* * *

It’s tiny things.

Those moments their gazes meet, Lorne fucking him raw, it’s not want or fear he sees. No, Lester’s eyes glitter with hope. They want approval. Every shudder, every whine, begs for affirmation. “Was I good enough?” he’d ask, sometimes, after Lorne pulls out. And there’s always this final syllable braced in his teeth after ‘enough’, choked back.

The way Lester nuzzles into him on nights that claim limb and will. Both of them, they mumble in their sleep. Lorne can feel the syllables traced onto him and he thinks a while over what he might have heard and what he might have felt, beyond the wet of a slumbering mouth. And every time, after Lorne drifts back to sleep, he wakes up nauseous and sweating.

Tiny things like that.

He’s encouraged this. They are united by words unspoken and pages unturned. All they have of each other is their indexes, frank, disjointed.

 **sadism,** 10-20.  
**solipsism,** 41.

Tonight Lorne looms behind Lester as he fucks him. Lester's moans hide behind duct tape just like he asked for. He takes Lorne whole, face down.

Lorne eases out of him a little. His partner looks behind him, indignant hunger in his eyes.

“I'm taking the tape off,” he explains, and caresses Lester’s jaw. Lester looking straight ahead now, Lorne feels for the tape, hiding the way his breath hitches when Lester’s ass tenses around his dick in anticipation. He peels it off gentle, prolongs the wrenches of adhesive not meant for human skin.

“You want more?” he asks, and leans into Lester till he's breathing down his neck. He growls, “Beg for it.”

Lester’s flesh speckles with goosebumps, but he tries to hold out. He lasts a while of rutting, never deep enough to fill him whole. Then his body goes limp like a tantruming child. Lorne grabs him rough by the neck and pulls him higher in a practiced grip, one that cuts off just enough for his circulation to drop.

“Please,” Lester gasps. He's streaked with sweat and Lorne can feel the blood rushing up Lester’s neck, blood that's got no right to be there. Suddenly Lester thrusts upwards, desperate for resolution. “I-- I swear, I swear I can take it,” he says. “Daddy. Please.“

 **daddy issues,** 3-40.

Lorne loosens his grip, his stomach twisting. He can feel his cock softening right there. And still he says, “Call me that again.”

“No--no no no. That's. That's not--”

Lorne squeezes his neck hard enough to leave bruises. “You're going to say it again, Lester.”

Those two syllables come slow, like a baby saying their first word. But he says them eventually. Accompanied by a “Please,” more high-pitched than the others.

Lorne pulls out rough and lets Lester drop onto his front.

Lester turns over to face Lorne. “What did I...”

“Jesus, Lester.” Lorne turns from him, stands to cross the room.

“It's just... something you say, right? Doesn't mean a thing. Didn't mean a thing to me.” His dick stands unsatiated. His cheeks are red. And Lorne just fixes him with a stare full of knives.

Lester doesn’t meet that gaze straight away. When he does the lust rises in his eyes. He moves his hand to his hole, waiting for Lorne to move. Then he starts to finger himself with what remains of the lube. His head leans back, panting in mimicked ecstasy.

Lorne steps closer but still skirts around the bed. “Keep going like that and you’re gonna break your wrist.” Well, not _you’re_. More _I’m_.

“I mean,” he says, looking up at him, “maybe that’s what I deserve, me being such a bad boy and all.” He teases it, smirking, between deep breaths, never once breaking eye contact.

So Lorne comes to him in all this desperation, sits by him. He grabs his wrist and Lester thinks he’s getting what’s coming to him, but Lorne just twists his hand into a better position. Lester’s smirk almost fades, his gaze replaced with mile-long ecstasy as Lorne masturbates him, controlling every wave of satisfaction. It’s in vain, though. Takes no more than a feather touch to his prostate for him to come all over their arms.

Lorne is the one to withdraw. With his clean hand, he cups Lester’s wet face - the weeping’s a physical response, nothing more. Part of him wants to lick up those tears. Another part knows he would retch.

Lester's eyes keep watering, but he’s chuckling low. Lorne looks over at him, puzzled.

“You forgot somethin’, Lorne.”

“What?”

He rises as much as he can, struggling to ride those last waves without laying back down. He manages just enough to wrap a hand round his partner’s dick, now half-flaccid. His thumb traces infuriating circles around his head. Lorne lolls back, his lips pursed so not to deliver a single noise of satisfaction. Those sharp inhales through his nose, though, they say more than he ever needed.

“I’ll break my wrist, huh?” Maybe it’s the heat of Lester’s breath, but part of Lorne seems to fade when he hears that laugh in his ear, when he feels those fingertips dragging down his back, when his partner brings him closer. He becomes… _lesser_. “Couple weeks back. I remember how you looked -- you looked so different, Lorne. You were a deer in headlights. I bet I know what you were thinking. You moaned, and moaned, and moaned, so surprised that someone like me could do all this to someone like you.” Lester has a palm on Lorne’s shoulder, as though to feel the tension, the changes in his breathing as he drags his thumb across his dick, ever slower. He whispers, “This is the hand that fucked you.”

* * *

_"You want to know what I think?"_

_"What? What do you think?"_

_"I think you were born in January 2006. I think you were born when someone told you there were better things out there."_

_There's a body on the floor and it's streaked with blood. Two streams of red run down from the top of the corpse's head, outlining his cheekbones._

_"Oh yeah?" Lester says it like it's nothing, pacing around the corpse to grab the legs. Rivers all over the body pooling onto the floor, a kind of battered island._

_"Before then you were going through the motions." While saying this Lorne hefts the body up by the underarms. "Eating, shitting. When you tried to break out you only got shoved back in deeper. A foetus never to grow into a child."_

_"And what am I now?"_

_"Old." He looks up at him as they carry the body through the doorway._

_The damage, this was all Lester. A minute ago he’d been looking upon the ruin, smiling, and Lorne, in turn, had been smiling at him._

_"You look the youngest you ever did."_


End file.
